I was stopped in my tracks by a Facebook memory the other day. It was from June 1, 2013. "Heading to Croker for Offaly v Kildare.

Hoping for a good showing from the lads," the post read. I'll never forget that day as long as I live because it was the last time I was in Croke Park with my father. It was the June Bank Holiday weekend and my father got offered last minute hospitality tickets to the game through work.

I was born and raised in Offaly, but my dad was a Kildare man, having spent much of his childhood in Kilshanroe. We couldn't turn down the opportunity. We barbecued the day before and the sun was shining on the Sunday.

I had a new Offaly jersey bought for the occasion. It was the dream Bank Holiday. We headed for Dublin and parked in my father's usual spot on Parnell Street.

We walked out to Croke Park in a hurry, keen to get there early to enjoy the swanky hospitality suite. It was my first time there, so I was taking it all in; the dark wood floors, framed memorabilia on the walls. It was a far cry from the endless concrete walls and ramps of the lower tiers.

A novelty for sure. "This is the way to do it," my Da said as we sipped a pint and gazed out over the blue skies and immaculate pitch. It was glorious.

Unfortunately for me, Offaly lost out on the day but my father was suitably smug with his 'Up the Lilies' taunts on the way back to the car. We walked back to Parnell Street and hit the road home. Four weeks later my father was in an induced coma in St James's.